


Day 183

by Serenhawk



Series: Cockles in the Wild [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Cockles Cooperative, Established Relationship, M/M, Misha is drunk, Polyamory, comedy with a side of melancholy, mentions of drug use, that's really all there is to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 19:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6622888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenhawk/pseuds/Serenhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one is sober. There's also tea.<br/>For the Cockles Co-operative prompt "How do JenMish celebrate wrapping Season 11?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 183

**Author's Note:**

> My fellow Co-op admin Hallemcready told me about Misha making Jensen tea between ops at Vegascon when he was under the weather.  
> Apparently I also really need Jensen making Misha tea. Because he knows how to give good kettle.
> 
> This is a work of fiction. No disrespect intended to those whose names are used.

 

 

“You have _got_ to be shitting me.”

“Nooo Mish, c’mon, let's gooo.”

Jensen squirmed beneath him, letting him know he was prepared to heft him off if need be. He wasn't sure how they ended up here, only that once everyone left he very much needed to not rely on his legs.

“But I’m so comfoot--, comf-tah--, com-fort-a-bull right here,” Misha appealed, grinding his nose into Jensen’s armpit to emphasize his point. There were more pleasant places to be than smooshed into an armpit it had to be said, even Jensen’s, of which he was more fond than the majority of armpits he’d encountered. To be fair he’d also exaggerated his level of comfort, with his neck arched at an odd angle and shoulder wedged between Jensen’s ribs and the back of the seat. They couldn’t stay like this, there was a tiny bubble of clarity at the back of his brain harboring this important insight. But the rest of his head, and limbs and other various parts of his body vital to achieving anything were wholly ambivalent due to the amount of bourbon and tequila he’d consumed. And some weed; he could taste the scorched woody remnants on the back of his tongue, despite not remembering who had procured or offered it. Much like his full glass throughout the last few hours, now that he thought about it.

“I’m not,” his grumpy pillow griped.

“But you have a bed, n’therrre,” he said plaintively, waving his free arm in the general direction of the rear of Jensen’s trailer.

“Mish, I don’t wanna wake up here. We’re _done._ I don’t wanna fucken’...I wanna go _home_. C’mon, UP.”

Jensen edged out from beneath him, leaving Misha to slump under the inevitable influence of gravity-plus-inebriation face first into the upholstery. Misha grunted and opened his available eye to see Jensen’s hand hovering a few inches from his head.

“Ermph,” Misha replied, managing to slap his palm to Jensen's to allow himself to be pulled vertical. “Oh, ‘ello,” he added upon finding them nose-to-nose and Jensen's mouth within easy kissing distance. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth without planting one on it, he swayed forward to inaccurately place a peck in the vicinity of Jensen's lips. Jensen rather passively cooperated before he propped Misha backward with firm hands wrapped around his biceps.

“Easy, big boy. We have to pace ourselves,” Jensen said.

“Right. Okay. No shenanan-- she-nan-i-gans ‘til we get home,” he nodded in agreement. “Let's go!”

He spun on his heels and headed for the door. “Wait, how are we going?” he asked over his shoulder. “Everyone's prolly fucked off, its...its…” He peered at his nonexistent watch. “Fuck-knows o’clock,” he finished lamely. Wow his vocabulary had really taken a hit. 

“I'll call a cab,” Jensen brilliantly deadpanned.

"O-kay!”

He turned a second time and had a short disagreement with the door handle. The door then swung open under his weight before an ungainful half-fall down the steps ensued and suddenly the ground was _right there._ “Fuck you too,” he mumbled at Newton and physics in general as he straightened up and tried to recall what he was supposed to be doing.

The next thing he knew something thick blanketed his head, blacking out the night. “You'll need that,” he heard Jensen say behind him, boots clunking down the stair. Misha spun and tugged furiously at the fabric, finally recognizing his jacket in the shafts of light from the side of the warehouse. He began to grapple with the unjust brainteaser of one sleeve the right way and one inside out and which one to adjust versus how much he cared about wearing his jacket a) inside out, and b) at all.

“Don't get me wrong,” he started, “‘cause I appreciate it, ya-know...you’re the one I want around in a crisis, who's always calm and can always fix anything...which a lesser man than me might find ee-mas-cue-late-ing...” He sounded out each syllable having learnt to preempt his brain-to-mouth impairment, “...’cause it’s not like I can’t build my own fucking house or anything...” he added waspishly under his breath at accumulated misconceptions. “But, how are you so sober and func-tion-al?”

He flapped the garment angrily for being completely uncooperative, both sleeves now somehow half tucked into each other. Jensen took it from him, restored it to its proper form and held it out to slide his arms through.

“Dude, I'm fucking wasted,” Jensen said, untucking his collar and slapping him on the back with an easy grin, “you're just absolute toast. C’mon.”

Jensen strode off with purpose across the lot leaving Misha to canter to catch up. “What’s the hurry?” he grumbled as they neared the perimeter fence.

Jensen shrugged. “Taxi will be here in five."

“Wait, my place or yours?” Misha asked.

“Mine. It’s closer, plus I have to pack up first thing.”

“Oh, right,” he conceded drearily, remembering the occasion. Then a thought occurred. ”But I really want tea,” he all but whined, his sudden tinder-dry throat and vague feelings of defeat and impending absence combining to crave his favorite source of comfort. After sex, which even he wasn’t so hammered as to know was probably going to be a long shot under the circumstances. He was however definitely up for hardcore gratuitous cuddling.

“Oh Jesus,” Jensen exclaimed quietly.

“What! So I like tea.”

“Babe, I have some of your roy-something-whatever at my place. I’ll make you tea.”

“You do?”

Jensen looked him warmly in the eye - well as much as he could given his eyes, Misha could see in the bask of the streetlight, were red and slitted. “Yup,” he said, all plump smug lips and dimples.

“Fuck, I love you,” Misha said, swelling with a liquid rush of feeling. _This man had his tea._

He launched himself at his friend, intending to show his infinite devotion by sweeping his tongue into his mouth knowing he had on his side the empirical certainty of Jensen being ‘the amorous drunk’ to his (generally) giggly handsy one. Jensen did indeed oblige in kissing him back, but gently unwrapped Misha’s arms from around his shoulders and eased away.

“We’re on the street,” he whispered apologetically, swivelling so they stood shoulder to shoulder. Then he slid an arm under Misha’s jacket to curve over the small of his back, rasping “but I can’t wait to get you home,” into Misha’s ear, causing him to experience a full body shudder of anticipation in spite of himself.

Or maybe he was just cold, the shudder becoming a pronounced shiver as Jensen withdrew his warmth again, despite the alcohol still circulating in his blood. Thankfully he wasn’t able to ponder it at length as the headlights of the car collecting them swung a white arc over where they stood.

Even though he knew it was only minutes, the ride to Jensen’s building felt like Max’s journey to where the wild things are, during which he learned initiating a horse-bite fight in a moving vehicle where the heat was up too high and one was significantly intoxicated was ill-advised, frantic self-defence and wheezing laughter quickly turning to wooziness. The brief shock of chill spring air between the car and the door seemed to repair his equilibrium so that by the time the door of Jensen’s apartment thudded dully behind them he was alert and focused, even if he was still unable to actually focus.

“Still want tea?” Jensen asked cheerfully over his shoulder, walking into the kitchen. He didn’t wait for Misha to answer before lifting the kettle off it’s base and filling it with water. The kettle he only owned because of Misha.

“Fuck yes. Please,” he replied, twisting out of his jacket. “I know everyone and their grandmother will try to extol the benefits of tea but you know the Chinese traditionally drank tea to prevent a hangover and they would know since they've been brewing both wine and tea for ten thousand years so who am I to argue with neolithic wis-- mmph.” His spontaneous treatise in defence of tea was curtailed by Jensen cupping one hand behind his head and the other over his mouth like he was the neurotic female half of an odd-couple duo in a suspense scene. Which he _in no way was. Ever._

“Mish I care about your appreciation for tea, but--” Jensen let his mouth wordlessly finish his sentence by replacing the hand on Misha’s lips.

Misha’s brain took about two seconds to catch up before he sank into the kiss, pulling Jensen in at the hips and sucking his tongue inside, heat surging instantaneously over his skin. They only stop when the electric kettle bubbles in the background and turns itself off with a loud click.

Jensen pulled his mouth away just enough to mutter something about it being boiled but Misha’s craving turned to licking at the tiny creases in front of Jensen’s ear and nibbling at the lobe. “Bed,” he ordered, as he moved to Jensen’s jaw.

“But... tea--,” Jensen said, slightly hoarse.

“Fuck the tea.”

“Fuck it?”

“Fuck it,” he confirmed urgently, finding Jensen’s mouth again and crowding him backwards into the counter only to knock over the mug he didn’t know had been placed in waiting there. A second later he heard it hit the ground and pieces skitter across the floor.

They broke off and both looked down. “Yeah, it’s fucked,” Jensen observed, giving Misha a beatific blitzed smile that struck him as uproarious, spitting his face with a grin as a giggle erupted from his diaphragm. “What!” Jensen asked, blinking owlishly and following suit with a stilted chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” Misha panted, dipping his forehead forward into Jensen’s collarbone. “I don’t know. I’m fucking tired and...fuck.” He gradually regained his composure to the realization that Jensen had one hand massaging the round of his ass while the other palmed the front of his jeans. Biting his lip, he issued a puny groan and nuzzled his way up under Jensen's chin while he pressed his lethargic but happy-go-lucky dick closer. “Let’s go to bed, before I have to start missing you,” he mumbled in between drifting kisses around the corners of Jensen’s mouth.

Jensen reclaimed his space without further comment, pushing Misha backward and spinning him around. He led them the familiar course to the bedroom, managing to toe off his shoes and socks with barely a stumble, but then found the effort required to remove the sleeves of his t-shirt from round his elbows rivaled Houdini exiting a straight jacket. When he turned back Jensen had disappeared, though on hearing a tap running through the wall he decided to sit while he waited, then flopped down on the bed and shuffle off his pants rather than risk a standing attempt involving balance and coordination.

The last thing he remembered noticing was cooled lips dusting over his ribs and abdomen.

++

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that he was alone. The second was something biting into his inner thigh.

He rolled onto his back and lifted the soft throw covering him to find the culprit was his belt buckle, his jeans still mostly in place apart from where the waistband and open fly had twisted and drifted to below his backside. When he looked up again, Jensen had appeared in the doorway. ”Morning,” he said, humor dancing through the base note of his gravel tone.

“What happened?” Misha asked blearily, testing out the muscles in his face as a precursor to the more critical ones he suspected were going to mutiny when he tried to get up. His mouth tasted like a perpetually damp cat. Or at least what he imagined it would, an actual cat not listing among the numerous things he had indeed licked.

Jensen padded over to squat near his head, bouncing slightly on his heels. “I came out of the bathroom and you’d already passed out. I think I started to try going down on you to wake you up, but you were out to it. I flaked too - that bowl kicked in late and I barely remember getting home in the first place." He rubbed the heel of his hand into one eyesocket, lashes fluttering above his cheekbone as he dropped it and sighed. "Seriously I need to sleep for about three weeks.”

“Hmm,” Misha concurred, picking at a pill on the blanket and mulling over fragmented recollections of the night before. “How come you look so chipper already then?” he asked, squinting at Jensen’s freshly shaven face.

“Coffee. And determination.”

Misha dropped his eyes, simultaneously mourning a lack of caffeine and the fact Jensen would be itching to get home to his real home, despite Misha in no way resenting it and knowing it would only be weeks rather than months until they caught up again. The impending arrival of summer was symbolically a catch-22 for all of them, moving in multiple directions while they regrouped and replenished. 

“I brought you tea,” Jensen said simply, carefully placing a steaming mug Misha hadn’t previously observed on the bedside cabinet.

Looking up again into the face of his savior, he flushed with a wave of emotion.

“Fuck, I love you,” he echoed emphatically.

The sun-filled smile he was afforded in return would almost keep him going until the next time he saw it.

 

~ FIN ~

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and kisses to BrielleSPN for initiating the prompt (go read her porny version!) and for encouraging me to attempt more comedy.


End file.
